Festival of the Dead
by MickeytheMouse
Summary: Written for Forthright's Second Annual Halloween Drabble Challenge. They say during Obon that the spirits are free to roam among the living. Free to haunt. Free to long. Free to die all over again.
1. Undesired Pain

A/N: This was originally posted for Forthrightly's Second Annual Drabble Challenge on LiveJournal. Enjoy! I suppose you could call this the first installment in my small collection for this challenge. The four are not necessarily related and they certainly are not consecutive, but they share the same event: the Obon Festival, which is a version of Halloween more akin to Dia de los Muertos than the American tradition.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of "InuYasha" by Rumiko Takahashi nor the wonderful world she has created.

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Kagome quickly dusted the filth off from her clothing and ran to catch-up with her half-demon companion. The girl smiled wistfully and normally would have snapped at InuYasha by now, but this time of year had Kagome in good spirits.

"Do you know what today is InuYasha?" Kagome clasped her hands innocently behind her back as she attempted to stroll ahead of him.

"What should it matter to me wench— today is no different than any other. Naraku still possesses a majority of the jewel and I will still destroy him. Nothing is different."

Kagome shook her finger at him playfully. "Ah, but today begins the festival of Obon. Surely you know of it."

"I know it."

"I can see it now: the lanterns strung across the village and the houses lit with blazing candles." Kagome paused and InuYasha simply stared at her back shamefully. "I just love this time of year, don't you?"

"I could do without being reminded of it," InuYasha mumbled more to himself than to Kagome, still she heard and her eyes widened.

"InuYasha! This is a time for celebration and magic— can't you feel it? Obon is a festival of—"

"—death," InuYasha finished for her.

Crossing her arms against her torso, Kagome's bubbly mood quickly swung into one of pouting as she argued childishly over his comment. "I wasn't going to say that."

"What were you going to say— life?" InuYasha asked callously.

"Yes— yes I was." The young woman struck a pose of indignation with her fists at the sides of her hip.

"Don't kid yourself Kagome. Obon is dedicated to the dead— what celebration can there be in that?"

Kagome gasped in sudden, conclusive horror at her ignorance. "That's what this is all about isn't it? Your mother."

"Drop it Kagome."

"That's why you despise this time of year— it reminds you of your mother's death."

InuYasha spun around, his eyes brimming with ignited anger and held back tears. "It reminds me that I'm hanyou okay! Each year I'm reminded of the first time I ever tried to do or be anything and the absolute fear and rejection that resulted. My mother was the only one to ever see me for anything other than an outcast. How can you even ask me to celebrate something like her death?"

InuYasha's eyes widened when he felt an embrace being wrapped around him from behind. "I'm sorry . . . but InuYasha?"

"Hmm?"

"I believe in you."

Closing his eyes, InuYasha cherished the moment and saw his clawed hand make its way over her own. "Would you like to meet her?"

Kagome's grasp loosened and InuYasha could hear her gasp. "They say the spirits arise during Obon. I—I don't think I could do it alone, but with you there Kagome . . . I'd like to go see my mother."

Kagome nodded and InuYasha began suddenly thinking that this festival may not be as bad as he originally thought; his fear seemed to matter little with Kagome by his side.

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_As always, I would love and be honored to have any reviews/comments/suggestions that my fantabulous readers may have. I treasure them all! _

_Truly yours,_

_Mickey-the-Mouse_


	2. Unknown Remembrance

A/N: This was originally posted for Forthrightly's Second Annual Drabble Challenge on LiveJournal. Enjoy! I suppose you could call this the second installment in my small collection for this challenge. The four are not necessarily related and they certainly are not consecutive, but they share the same event: the Obon Festival, which is a version of Halloween more akin to Dia de los Muertos than the American tradition.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of "InuYasha" by Rumiko Takahashi nor the wonderful world she has created.

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The pale sky darkened and the wind blew violently one moment and disappeared quickly the next. It left a blank void of disarray where the castle had once been. Among the rubble lay a small boy whose eyes were as blank as the land about him. Cold and emotionless, he laid not knowing himself or if he were dead or alive.

As he struggled to lift his broken body from the mud, Kohaku began his ascent. Truly not even himself knew where, but he would know it once the destination had been reached. From the surroundings he assumed that his legs had brought him to an abandoned slayer village. Stooping lowly against a plot of graves, the small boy traced his fingers over the wooden post in front of him. The place seemed so familiar but Kohaku still needed answers as to why and so he turned to walk toward the one hut that seemed to be occupied.

He hoped that these people might know him and could explain why he had come when he himself did not know. So, walking around to the garden he found an elderly couple, living their lives quietly in the village as if the destruction about them was not there. When the boy saw them he cautiously walked forward and muttered a soft hello.

"Um, excuse me." The man and woman threw one final weed as they glared at the boy in surprise. They had seen no one but themselves for so long that they did not quite even believe he was there. True they saw and recognized him, but only as a figment— a product of the many spirits released during Obon.

"Hello Kohaku," the woman answered, hardly lifting her eyes from her toiling. "It's been a while since I have seen you. How is your father doing?"

"My father?" Kohaku asked, hardly knowing the meaning of the term for his memories still remained clouded. There was still no recollected memory to hold any connotative value for the word. "Do you know who I am?"

The woman laughed lightly to herself and then commenced a conversation with her husband, momentarily acting as if she had not previously been speaking to another. "Did you hear that— the boy doesn't remember."

"Strange," began the husband, "I always thought that them spirits kept in contact with one another." The man turned to Kohaku. "Boy— do you not speak to your father beyond the grave?"

"He is dead?" Kohaku asked once more, slowly his eyes began to pool with recollection. "Will you show him to me."

The man nodded and led Kohaku back to the grave he had come upon earlier and muttered, "strange spirits," as he left the boy.

Hours later a young woman would come across the very same village— the very same grave and see that someone had placed flowers at its head. She would turn to her companion, a monk, and whisper both with sadness and hope the name of her brother. "Kohaku."

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_As always, I would love and be honored to have any reviews/comments/suggestions that my fantabulous readers may have. I treasure them all! _

_Truly yours,_

_Mickey-the-Mouse_


	3. Unwarranted Pride

A/N: This was originally posted for Forthrightly's Second Annual Drabble Challenge on LiveJournal. Enjoy! I suppose you could call this the third installment in my small collection for this challenge. The four are not necessarily related and they certainly are not consecutive, but they share the same event: the Obon Festival, which is a version of Halloween more akin to Dia de los Muertos than the American tradition.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of "InuYasha" by Rumiko Takahashi nor the wonderful world she has created.

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Morning had come early for Jaken as his fingers teased his forehead and his dry, scratchy throat ached from remaining open throughout the night. The small imp knew that his lord would already be gone when he awoke, so there was no ill composure when Sesshoumaru was not in the distance. Fitting his staff once more into his tiny claws, Jaken turned to his left, secretly despising these routines, but knew that if Rin were in jeopardy so was he.

This is precisely the reason that Jaken's forehead was now colliding itself willingly with a tree; Rin was missing.

A few meters away, Rin sat cautiously against the edge of a hot spring. She knew not to get too close, but her harvest needed tempering. In one single thrust the young girl cast warm water onto the pile of berries she had collected earlier that morning and slowly began to make a paste. Humming softly, Rin was quite content with her work and once the desired consistency had been reached she smacked her lips in satisfaction.

"Won't lord Sesshoumaru be surprised, and master Jaken too."

Leaning a coy finger forward, Rin swiped up a sample of the viscous, magenta goo and proceeded to smear it all across her face. Taking a glance every now and then at her reflection, Rin saw the progression of her marks. She began with a few across her cheeks and proceeded down her wrists until the girl's skin was almost completely covered in the stain of berry juice.

Stopping her work was the rustling of the bushes behind her and with a wide grin Rin about-faced and ran to her lord's side. Beside him was a red-faced Jaken, whose face looked swollen and bruised in places. Sesshoumaru switched his glance from stoic curiosity toward the girl to annoyance and pleasure toward the imp.

"Rin!" Jaken cried in his high-pitched squeal. "Where have you been? Don't you know you have had your lord looking everywhere for you?"

"You have?" Rin asked in awe. "Lord Sesshoumaru— you have been worried?"

"I helped look, I should have you know," Jaken mumbled complacently under his breath.

"Rin." Sesshoumaru began. "What have you done to your face?" His voice was hushed and unmoving, but Rin's smile grew for she knew he was insatiably curious.

"Rin looks like Sesshoumaru-sama now." The child's blatant reply caught the lord off guard and he was forced to quickly hide his surprise as she continued. "It was supposed to be a surprise—see?" Rin pointed to the marks on her cheeks and wrists.

As Sesshoumaru called the group to walk once more, Rin found her place by his side. Impulsively, her lord stole a quick, prideful glance at her for unknowingly, she had pleased him. It is true that a demon is most dangerous when posing as a human, he thought, but what they rarely tell you is this: the most innocent is when a human masquerades as a demon.

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_As always, I would love and be honored to have any reviews/comments/suggestions that my fantabulous readers may have. I treasure them all! _

_Truly yours,_

_Mickey-the-Mouse_


	4. Unsought Longing

A/N: This was originally posted for Forthrightly's Second Annual Drabble Challenge on LiveJournal. Enjoy! I suppose you could call this the fourth installment in my small collection for this challenge. The four are not necessarily related and they certainly are not consecutive, but they share the same event: the Obon Festival, which is a version of Halloween more akin to Dia de los Muertos than the American tradition.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of "InuYasha" by Rumiko Takahashi nor the wonderful world she has created.

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The darkness of the village spread until the only illumination was that of three small lamps leading to the village's outskirts in the direction of InuYasha's forest. From the silence an elderly woman walked and lit the fourth lamp of the Obon festival. The time of celebration and mourning was nearing its close and the old woman soon scuffled her way back to the safety of her bed. There, she laid her tired bones down, budged uncomfortably for a few moments before finally settling down into sleep.

The lamp she had been carrying with her flickered as the wind outside swelled.

The world Kaede saw about her flourished back and forth without settling on one particular image. Blurry and inconsistent, Kaede struggled to focus, but as soon as her vision stilled, the woman gazed about and noticed something remarkable.

Sight. Her vision was clear and bringing he fingers dangerously close to her face was amazed to find there was no cloth--no bandage about her right eye. In bliss she laughed to herself and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Her voice was young. Now that she allowed herself to revel in the presence of her location, Kaede realized that she was a little girl again. She was dreaming of her childhood.

Kaede saw the wondrous sight of her sister, Kikyou, young and just becoming a priestess. She had glowed so radiantly then and smiled often. There were few times once she began her service when she would have time for siblings, but Kaede reveled in the very awkward stance she now held as she attempted to hold her bow erect and presentable.

Then, Kaede found herself at the lip of a cave and shuddered, thinking of what she knew lay battered, bruised and conniving inside. Kaede did not long to relive the memories of the early Naraku, but her dream forced her forward. She witnessed her sister come and go and when the pale apparition of Onigumo reached to touch her, Kaede's eyes burned like hot coals and she could see no more.

Crouching lowly and trembling, Kaede clutched her eye until she felt a cold hand upon her shoulder. Eyes widening with shock, Kaede turned upward to face the clay-like form of her sister, barely recognizable from a ghost.

"Does death hurt?" the young voice of Kaede asked.

The form nodded.

"Sister Kikyou . . . why do you haunt me?"

The vision of Kikyou flickered until she vanished and Kaede along with it. All Kaede would recall was the despair of watching flames engulf her sister as she cried out— regaining her age.

Kaede shot up from her sleep, beads of sweat on her brow. She forced herself to the doorway and gazed out into the night, wondering whether all had been merely a dream; her only response, however, was the escaping sight of soul collectors, drifting away from the hut and vanishing just as a strong wind came once more and the lights from the lamps flickered out.

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_As always, I would love and be honored to have any reviews/comments/suggestions that my fantabulous readers may have. I treasure them all! _

_Truly yours,_

_Mickey-the-Mouse_


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